


A Whole New World

by pansycaake



Category: Sherlock (TV), Superlock - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Crossover, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Genderbending, M/M, Possible smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:54:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansycaake/pseuds/pansycaake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural/BBC Sherlock crossover with a few genderbent characters. Starts after Reichenbach and somewhere in season seven of Supernatural. I'll add more of a summary when I actually know what I'm doing. Lots of feedback please! Thanks everyone :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Whole New World

**Author's Note:**

> All I want is nothing more  
> To hear you knocking at my door  
> 'Cause if I could see your face once more  
> I could die a happy man I'm sure
> 
> When you said your last goodbye  
> I died a little bit inside  
> I lay in tears in bed all night  
> Alone without you by my side
> 
> But if you loved me  
> Why'd you leave me?

“My dear, dear Watson..”

-

It had been one year and one month to the day since the infamous Reichenbach Fall, and Jane Watson was still alone in 221B. Newspaper clippings were more prominent on the walls of the grieving flat than the wall paper was, save the bit spray painted with a smiley face freckled ironically with bullet holes. Yes. Sheryl’s masterpiece of boredom remained untouched. The oldest of the disheveled articles were positioned on the wall directly across from Jane’s chair. Those insignificant bits of paper were hung when she still had the emotional strength and dignity to sit in her own chair. In fact, the blogger hadn't sat in her own chair for months now, obvious from the dust it was collecting with each day that passed in the now dreary little flat. The used chair in the room was that of the Fake Genius. Now dead for a total of thirteen months. _Thirteen_. Jane’s empty eyes scanned the more recent bits of newspaper. As time had passed, the articles tacked to the wall had become less about Reichenbach, less about what happened, less about how, less the possibility that the world’s only consulting detective could be alive, and more about her death. The articles, as well as poor Jane Watson, had accepted the death of the brilliant girl in the deer stalker. Eventually, the clippings strayed to focus on how the dead could be resurrected. In a desperate attempt to bring back her only friend in the world, Jane had delved into the world of the supernatural. _Even that_ , she mused bitterly in the solitude of her mind, _even that hasn't brought her back. Not even the worst of the lot can save her. I need her._

Doctor Watson had made every attempt imaginable to bring back her flat mate, if their relationship could be defined by something as simple as that. Nothing had worked. No hoodoo or voodoo or ancient spells or odd potions. She again had begun to think the world of such unexplainable things was make-believe. Until she met with a crossroads demon, that is. But even such a devious thing could not help her, and that fact only made the loss harder to bear. Even with her own soul up for bargain, she could get no one to give her detective back to her. The impossible was real. The stuff of nightmares was real. But reviving her friend? No. Not for the longest time. Not until the King of Hell himself, the demon who called the shots, Crowley, stepped in. It had now been a little over a week since they met, since she promised him her servitude and sealed it with a kiss. A terrible kiss mind you. The deal wasn't a run of the mill demon soul trade, of course. Jane could keep her soul. Crowley had a more pressing need. She could keep her soul as long as she followed through with any and all future favors Crowley thought her capable of doing. Vague agreement. Dangerously so, but little Miss Watson didn't think twice.

 _Too long_ , she had silently declared days ago, _it’s been too long_. Crowley hadn't fulfilled his promise. He had not brought the renowned Sherlock Holmes back from the grave, and Jane was at the end of her rope. She was so close. So close to giving up as she sat there in the dim light on Sheryl’s chair, her fingers gripping the arm rests hard enough to pale her knuckles.

Then, there was a knock.

No. Two brisk knocks.

And so Jane forced herself to her feet and crossed the room with a scowl staining her face.

She prepared to tell off Ms. Hudson.

She swung the door open.

And froze.

“My dear, dear Watson..”


End file.
